By |

June bugs spin,
inverted,
on the cool, damp garage floor
at half past midnight

thoughts of gangrene catch in my throat —
tube-socks filled with lime Jello shots
tempt me from the task at hand —
a testosterone-crazed Min-Pin

leaping and lunging
desperate to savor the beetle-crunch
in its powerful jaws
when all I wanted him to do

was go potty.

By |

the heart is a sovereign nation
its emissaries en route to distant lands
by way of narrow channels
congested highways
speedboats on a mission
racing through bloody waters
dispensing life-quenching nutrients
to a parched, needy and often ungrateful host…

By |

Traversing the vast Kalahari,
a threadbare bandana kept the grit
at bay, sheltering teeth and nostrils.
Damp from the condensation

of my labored breathing, the fabric chafed.
I faltered briefly at the ancient portal, its
rocky underpinnings a deterrent,
the arid plains before me a windswept desolation

of crumbling decay. I surveyed the old kingdom
and pressed on. Soon, silence on all sides.
I lowered my kerchief, keen with relief
knowing I was safe from my pursuers
as sizzling skies gave way to subtle blues and pinks.

Then black.

The wind ceased in its fury, no longer perpendicular
to my forward momentum. Uncoupled from
my bulging rucksack, I bedded down for the night
sheltered by the cool darkness.

Come dawn, I would resume, fearful once more.
Rest, now, for this body and a rekindling of the spirit.

Fiercely awakened
after years of emptiness,
there is nothing to hold me back
despite my fears,
despite the longing,
despite the doubt.

By |

Thunder rumbles in the distance
from the western horizon:
the promise of rain.

Good.

Body caked in sweat
baseball cap corralling
a Monday case of unruly hair.
Yet I resist a shower,
the groove of my day
doesn’t yet include
body wash and shampoo.

Not just yet anyway.

I’m enjoying this time alone
pretty much like every 24/7.
Why is that, I wonder?

Little plinks of rain,
staccato formation.
I sit under a shallow eave:
I’m protected enough.
Northwest sky is hazy,
the clouds heavy and full.

Bird feeders are still
just like the air.

Quiet envelops me
as it always does.
I don’t fear it.
I welcome the silence
and embrace it.
It fills me, somehow.

Butterfly high in the sky
against a backdrop
of encroaching cloud cover.
When the storm arrives
where will it fly?
Will it go wherever the elements take it?

Questions I’d not yet ever pondered.

I like it out here
surveying my world
my special place of retreat:
my sanctuary.

Clouds are moving northward
warm air from the south, then.
Atmospheric forces at play
for something spectacular, perhaps.
As with the silence,
I welcome this too.

There’s a throaty growl.
The storm is moving closer.

Mr. Monarch is flying lower now;
it glides and dips above the grass
unconcerned with wind speed,
precipitation,
temperature fluctuations.
I should be so nonchalant,
focusing solely on charting
my own travels and adventures.

My new winged friend
flits in and out of my line of sight
unwittingly imparting
new perspectives on how to live one’s life.

I shall remember this moment.

By |

She leans into
his receptive body,
toggle set to INTEREST,
perhaps INTENT.

Other messages posted too,
aimed at all comers
male and female:
This is mine.
This is where I choose to be.

The boy stood still and smiled,
all warm inside.
He’d not ever known this.

And inside his eager brain,
a yellow neon light:
Proceed, but with caution.
Protect your heart.
Always.
Protect your heart.

By |

Not friends. Not really.
Acquaintances with a common purpose.
Friendly enough but only to a point.
Don’t get too close.
That’s where the little black gadgets come in.
Sanctuaries.
Diversions.
Unflattering devices, however useful they may be.
However fun.

We no longer talk to one another.
We turn to our toys instead.
The divide deepens.

We’re losing ourselves, allowing it to happen.
The emperor has no clothes
yet we’re glued to five inch plates of aluminosilicate glass,
focused on nothing, really.

We’re trading our humanity
for screen time,
marching ourselves toward human obsolescence.

Here — take our souls too while you’re at it.
 

By |

private places reside in the heart
— and in the soul

aren’t those the same thing
— she asked

hearts can be broken
— he told her

the soul lives on forever
— in the hearts of all that we cherish

By |

Coco dreams of a mommy
with indestructible arms.
Legs immune to canine incisors,
hands slathered in creamy Jif,
her eyes blind to his sniffs and squats.

A mouth that never says NO.

But Coco needs love too.
Mommy’s gentle arms to hold him,
coaxing little puppy dreams:
Wild romps through fresh cut grass.
Good Boys! at every street crossing.
Her eyes wide open to his endearing ways.

Her heart forever taken,
their bond never to be broken.